


Ride

by grumpynymph



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Biker AU, F/M, Futuristic, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rivalry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-21
Updated: 2017-04-21
Packaged: 2018-10-22 01:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10686957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpynymph/pseuds/grumpynymph
Summary: Two motorcycle gangs. Two fools in love. One city that never sleeps. What could go wrong?





	Ride

Cassanova was a bustling city, full of shops and skyscrapers, plain faces shifting in and out of crowds, drifting across concrete sidewalks. Early in morning you could look out from behind holographic shades and watch the sun rise as street vendors set out their wares. The pink sky seemed to kiss the silver and gold buildings, lazy clouds swirling and twirling beyond the horizon. 

But the night, the night was Lance’s favorite.

Neon lights flashed and blinked, giant screens in the heart of the maze of streets playing muted dramas and breaking news. The city seemed to glow in the darkness, deserted alleyways illuminated by blue lamps. Curfew Laws required all citizens to be inside by 10:00 PM, but the rhythmless beat of dance music from the mansions and the clubs could be heard from blocks away. He relied on the heavy bass echoing from the richest part of the city to mask the buzz of his engine. 

Lance had been fixing bikes since he was five years old, it was the only thing he was good at, it was the only thing he _needed_ to be good at. Back then there were no Curfew Laws. His father would ride for hours in the city quarter, weaving around expensive cars, chuckling when they slammed their fists on the horn. He always let Lance sit on the back of his bike, chubby fingers clutching at his coat as they picked up speed. 

Now he was 21, and the city had been turned upside down. The “election” of Zarkon meant an increase in police forces, a lockdown on barely existent crimes, and personal manhunt for every offender of his precious shut-in law. 

Naturally, Lance wanted to be included.

The Cadets had been the product of a night of drunken stupor in the kitchen of Hunk’s dad’s restaurant. Just out of high school, the duo were aimless forces to be reckoned with. Or rather, Lance was. Hunk was just there to keep him out of trouble. 

“This is bull, y’know?” He took another swig of whatever concoction Hunk had mixed up, slumping back in his chair. “‘This law is for your safety’ From what? The only criminals in Cassanova are the CEOs.” 

Hunk shrugged, fishing another maraschino cherry from the jar and popping it into his mouth. "He's Zarkon man, he's probably got like childhood trauma from all the bullying he got as a kid. This is just him taking it out on the rest of the world." 

"Yeah, whatever. We can't just sit here let him conquer the city with his totalitarian rule." 

Hunk chuckled, shaking his head. "We're kids Lance, what do you want us to do? Become Novian outlaws?"

The sudden glimmer in his friend's eye made him regret asking.

"That's it!" Lance slammed a fist down on the rickety table, grinning from ear to ear. "We'll start a motorcycle gang!"

"Woah, woah!" A nervous smile graced Hunk's lips as he waved his hands in a 'please stop you're going to get us all killed' motion. "What happened to 'let's take it easy after high school'? You were gonna try and get a job at that car shop!"

"No no no, see we'll only do it at night, that way we won't get caught and I can work at the shop and you can run your restaurant!"

"You cant just  _plan_  to not get caught, Lance." 

He was far beyond reasoning with however, already starting to sketch a sloppy city map on a used napkin. 

Hunk sighed, burying his face in his hands. "Why do I bother? He won't remember any of this." 

"Hunk are you listening to me? Fuck, who do we know who's not in jail... MATT, call Matt!" 

Unfortunately, Lance did remember, and showed up on his friend's doorstep bright and early the next morning with homemade jacket designs from his mother. Hunk, unable to deny Ms. Sanchez anything, agreed, and thus The Cadets were formed.

The best part? They only had to wait a week to find their next member. Or rather, until their next member found them.

It was nearing curfew, and Lance stood in front of the dented ATM in the south alley, a cigarette hanging from his lips and a scowl on his face. There was a reason the giant metal box was so battered. 

In his frustration, he didn't hear the shuffling footsteps walk up. 

"Let me join your club."

Lance jumped a good foot into the air, swearing as the cigarette dropped from his mouth and swiveling around to face the mystery speaker. "Oh." He sighed a breath of relief when he saw the small figure, running a hand through his hair. "Jesus Pidge, you scared the shit out of me. What are you talking about?" 

The girl stood as tall as she could, arms crossed across her chest and stance wide. "Your club, I want in. Don't play dumb, you've left 33 messages for Matt already." 

"Okay first of all it's not a club it's a gang, and we're not looking for new members. Tell your bro to stop being a jerk and get back to us, will you?" 

"He's unavailable. I however, am wide open." Despite her size, Pidge seemed to block the whole path, refusing to budge when he tried to escape. 

Lance grumbled something under his breath, giving up and turning around to go the other way. "Whatever, if we're not worth his time we'll find someone else." 

"Wait, Lance stop." It was more of a command than a request.

"Sorry Katie, it's almost curfew. I gotta go." 

"The Galra got him!"

Lance stopped in his tracks. When he looked back, the teenager seemed a little less strong, a little smaller. The Galra were Zarkon's police force, specializing in random arrests and brutal unnecessary force. "What? When? How?"

Pidge took a shaky breath. It occurred to him this could be the first time she's said it out loud. "He was with uh Shiro, and my dad, and they arrested all of them, no reason, I didn't even get a phone call." 

He didn't know what to say, what he  _could_ say. When citizens from the poor quarter got taken away, they rarely came back. 

"Just- let me join your gang. I have access to the police scanners, I could help out." Pidge's eyes were locked on the dusty concrete, hands shoved into the pocket of her sweatshirt. "Anything to mess with them." 

Lance was quiet for a moment, raising a hand to scratch the back of his neck. "Yeah, yeah okay." 

It wasn't long until they had established a system. Hunk and Lance would go out, taking instructions from Pidge through the Bluetooth earpieces she insisted on installing directly into their helmets. Situated at the table in the restaurant's kitchen, she fed them information from the police scanner, warning them of approaching patrol cars and giving them opportunities to interrupt arrests. All they had to do is race the streets as fast as they could, she would take care of the rest.

The night was Lance's favorite. He only felt content in the peaceful chaos, going 85 down a deserted road, the blue and red lights behind him flashing against the black tar. 

No matter how hard the officers floored their sleek cars, they always seemed to lose him.

The Cadets became known quickly, the two faceless bikers who taunted the Galra, an act that was previously a death sentence. Sometimes citizens would hang out from windowsills, cheering as they passed by, other times they would boo. Blurry photos of them were plastered on city walls and displayed on the wide screens. Hunk was terrified, Lance was thrilled.

In the mornings he would go to work with his hefty tool bag, fixing up down-on-their-luck businessmen and consoling crying housewives. Pidge would go to school, squirming in her seat until the bell rang, and Hunk would make possibly the best culinary masterpieces Cassanova has ever seen. 9:45 was when they would get to work. 

"Are you fixing up the bikes again? Seriously man give it a rest, they're fine." 

Lance pouted, resting his head against the shiny leather seat. "I _know_ I can get these lights to work, Imagine how much cooler we'll look!" 

Hunk shook his head, pulling his jacket over his shoulders, the yellow tubes embedded in the iridescent fabric already starting up. "Our _jackets_ glow Lance, any more and we'll look like glow sticks." 

Pidge stumbled into the cramped garage, stifling a yawn. "Is he still trying to become a Tron rip off?" 

Hunk smirked, "Yup." 

"Guuuuuuyssss." Lance whined, taking one last look at the fluorescent accessories before giving up, dramatically throwing himself down on the grimy floor. "Whatever. Forget it. Lets go." 

Pidge grinned, something maniacal in her eyes. _"That's_ what I've been waiting for, I've got a good route for you guys tonight." 

It wasn't long before Lance had picked himself back up and thrown on his jacket, a quick tap to the solar charging station illuminating the blue lights. The promise of a special fuck-over-the-Galra night was one he could never turn down. 

The streets were unusually quiet, no music playing or drunken singing echoing off the narrow walls. It made Lance uneasy, and he found himself going faster than usual, gloved fists clenched over the handles. 

That's when all hell broke loose.

His earpiece crackled to life. "Lance, wait, there's something-" 

**_CRASH_ **

Lance was expecting a patrol car, maybe two.

What he _wasn't_ expecting was a motorcycle and _four_ patrol cars. 

He could only stand dumbfounded as the vehicles raced towards him. It was a moment before his friend's screaming voices snapped him out of it, and he quickly turned himself the fuck around, speeding down the street.

Things only went downhill from there. 

The man on the bike was clothed in a shiny black material, his motorcycle the most polished surface Lance had ever seen. He didn't seem to notice he was there. 

An officer's voice blared on the megaphone. "YOU, BOTH OF YOU, STOP. YOU ARE BREAKING THE LAW. YOUR SENTENCE WILL BE LENGTHENED IF YOU DO NOT CEASE." 

He thought he heard the biker chuckle. 

Lance looked for an exit, a quick escape, anything, but all the roads had been blocked off. There was something seriously wrong.

"Lance! Buddy! You okay? What's going on?"

Hunk's voice caught him by surprise, nearly swerving off the road. "Uh- yeah, yeah fine. Who's this guy? I love surprises and all, but I think _I_ should decide when we take in a new member." 

"No idea, Pidge?"

"You think I get out enough to hire a whole new Cadet? Let me pull up the database." 

"Just hurry up, I'm- _HOLY_ -"

Normally Lance was all for tricks, but his limit came when they were _flying over his fucking head._

 _Another_ biker had appeared, speeding up a construction ramp and taking literal flight. 

The scene seemed to go in slow motion, the bike arcing in the air like a chariot in a renaissance painting, the rider's cropped red jacket shimmering in the flashing light. Something was spouting out of the muffler. 

Before he could process what exact fuckery just went down in front of his very eyes, there was a wall of smoke in front of the police cars, and the two strangers were speeding away. 

The black jacket turned to give him a salute, and then they were gone. 

Lance breathed heavily, turning into the nearest alley, not looking back until the pounding in his chest started to fade. His friends were shouting, but he couldn't focus on their words, meaningless noise only mixing up his brain. He took the helmet off. 

There was only one biker gang in Cassanova, The Cadets.

So who the hell were these guys? 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked the first chapter of Ride! This will be a longer fic with possible mini ficlets branching off of it. Please let me know what you think of it/if you have any suggestions!
> 
> Tune in next time to see Lance attempt to flirt, meet the Mystery Gang, and learn more about Hunk's world famous soufflés.


End file.
